Reverence for Reality

Palestine will not leave you wanting in regards to stumbling upon sites of cherished religious significance. In one month I have experienced a few of them - I have gazed into the cave of Jesus' supposed birth, stood above Abraham's tomb, been inside the Old City of Jerusalem, and as of today, while in the ancient city of Nablus, walked by the well where Jesus was recorded to have spoken to the Samaritan woman. To be honest with you, though, I am left feeling a shade bereft because the romanticized impression that I had previously projected onto this region has so far been unfulfilled.

Perhaps it was the swarms of religious pilgrims (mostly from Eastern Europe it seemed), or the overly zealous postcard peddlers, or perhaps I have only myself to blame for not drawing forth the pious veneration they may have deserved. Perhaps even more significantly, in my summation, is the general malaise of experiencing a 'life occupied', the symptoms of which are far from subtle.

Travel here isn't determined by kilometers, but by Israeli checkpoints. It took four such checkpoints to get to Nablus, some operated by two young men with M-16's, others by concrete citadels serving as sniper roosts, and there were turnstiles, x-ray machines, barricades dressed in mangled barbed wire, young men (and women) with grenade-launching versions of the generic US assault rifle, and some with even heavier caliber machine guns. But I have spoken of this before in earlier entries. I just wish I could offer you the complete picture, literally, but taking photos isn't the most favored of activities there.

Standing at the Hawara checkpoint, one of two main entrances into Nablus (both Israeli controlled), scores of Palestinians stood waiting in long lines, letting out a wistful cheer when any one member was allowed through to the surplus of canary yellow taxis awaiting them on the other side. As an American, it was a little easier, though I still had to put my bag through a mobile x-ray vehicle and relinquish my passport. Some of the time the young soldiers engage in light conversation, but most look rather annoyed, edgy, and tend to behave that way too. I know I would be if I had to stand in the sun all day with heavy gear with the principle task of making people frustrated with you.

It was equally as intense to walk through the Balata refugee camp, the largest in the West Bank with around 20,000 persons, and to see the tight streets lined with posters of armed martyrs pasted on the side of every grey, tattered building, all the while young boys running around with plastic handguns and AK-47's playing 'Israelis and Palestinians'. Despite the imagery, I wasn't affected much by the young boys antics.

When I was their age I was just as interested in weapons, and in fact had more 'advanced' versions than the ones they were wielding. Upon reflection I sense that the main difference between my boyhood years of gun playing and theirs is that they have a tangible 'enemy', whereas mine were only imaginary. And it's not hard to see why they would, despite the shocking nature of that statement to many of my countrymen. Even as an American, who carries with him a one-up position (via my passport) here, I occasionally observe retaliatory and antisocial visions wander across my mind, albeit brief as they are. I can assure you that it does take an exceptional person to witness military occupation every day for 40 years and not take up arms in struggle. It would be helpful to understand that by having to walk through the Hawara checkpoint every day (which the UN mentions is the sole contributor to the 80% unemployment rate in Balata) and still remain civil is a powerful form of nonviolence, and most people here live that way every single day.

I don't want to seem as if I support violent struggle. Even though resisting against military occupation is legal under international law (if the occupied party attacks the military forces only) I still have a very hard time accepting the justification it. Today I was told that the Balata refugee camp is famous for its martyrs, of which 170 have been killed by the IDF (I think I saw at least 20 or 30 of their faces on the streets walls). Although it is a tragedy for everyone involved, that is the reality faced in Nablus.

So with all this I hope you can forgive me for not taking the time and being in the space to revere the Holy Land as many people might imagine they would. It is enough to be able to make your way down the main street in Balata and encounter inquisitive children who want to shake your hand and walk with you for awhile, and give to them the respect and warmth they duly deserve.

A Different Story

What is a suitable role for an American in Palestine? Having without doubt contributed to the Occupation in a tangible way (US tax dollars are used to construct illegal Israeli settlements and US funding of Israeli Defense Forces weaponry is irrefutable), is it even possible to have a constructive role, or are the contradictions too pervasive and restraining? I have left members of the community here to answer that pressing question, a question that I began to consider myself long before my arrival.
And the message has been pretty clear. Because most Palestinians are aware of the tacit support provided for Israel by the US, and that the US media's jaundiced view of Arabs and Muslims breeds more fear and contempt than conciliation, it is 'by sharing a more nuanced and realistic perspective with my fellow Americans that they believe some progress towards justice and peace can be attained'. At the heart of it is countering misperceptions and harmful generalizations of Palestinians by providing a more authentic narrative.

In the conservative and recusant circles of cross-cultural analysis in the US you might find such anecdotes like, "All terrorists are not Muslims, but all Muslims are terrorists," or, "All Palestinians (or Arabs more generally) support suicide bombing and hate Americans." On the other hand, an opposing view, just as unsophisticated and vitriolic, might suggest that, "Suicide bombing and terrorism can be justified if they are acts of resistance," or, "the Jews are responsible for 9/11." My personal feeling is that the truth lies unnoticed (and silenced) somewhere in the middle.

But what is 'truth' in this context? That depends on who you ask I suppose, so I set out to do some interviews to find out. Moayed, a 21 year-old Dheisheh man, was a star runner in his youth, confident and happy, given the circumstances. But life was hard for he and his family; food did not always find its way onto the table and he had to live within a 14' barbed wired fence until he was 8. In 2000, with the second Intifida boiling up and over in his community, his life began to change dramatically.

Moayed was young, full of angst, and decided to take out his energy by throwing stones at soldiers, tanks, jeeps, whatever he and his cohorts could. He acknowledged that the stones were virtually harmless, but they symbolized taking action, defiance of a brutal military occupation that had taken his friends life while standing next to him. In his defiance he recieved an M-16 round centimeters from his heart -for throwing stones- still there to this day, and years in an Israeli jail. In the jail he was sometimes beaten and humiliated, but he looks upon those years with surprising affection, it seemed, because he was educated in a way that he never imagined he could be.

He came to realize that through education and by thinking more strategically he could resist the Occupation and struggle in a way that was far more productive and meaningful. Ultimately, his identity as a defiant young man evolved into a deeper Palestinian identity, one that pushed him to go to college, work to educate the next generation, and dedicate his life to nonviolent struggle.

Of these young persons that I have begun to interview - and the material could fill many more paragraphs in these electronic pages - I have stumbled upon profound stories of resilience and personal transformation amidst the most extreme adversity. In my view, the young men here acted as any young men elsewhere might also (I remember my own relentless snowball attacks on cars and I had no reason at all!). They are regular people, affected deeply by the violence around them, yet striving to live fulfilling and secure lives. They are genuine, supportive, and still love life. So far, this is the message that they would like me to share with you.

Perspectives

As I had anticipated, this has been a true journey of discovery. In my last blog I briefly described some of the conversations that have been taking place around me - the tanks, snipers, torture, and humiliating oppression, for example. Coming from a place where such 'trauma' is effectually imponderable, these stories may sound contrived to you. Until now, I have had no prior reference point in regards to these very real experiences, save for a few readings I may have done or impassioned speeches I was able to entertain.

But to call it 'trauma' is to miss the real essence of what it's like to live through it, so I gather. Is it really a trauma when an entire community has suffered from it? Or can it be more accurately described as 'normal reactions to abnormal circumtances'? I was speaking with an Italian psychologist last evening, someone who has worked in Palestine for many years exploring just that. Putting on my researchers hat I began asking him if counseling or 'therapy' has any value in this environment. He admitted that it does very little, aside from some extreme cases, becuase so many members of the community suffer from the same thing, you can call it trauma or whatever you like. His experience has revealed that the most beneficial type of activity for persons living through such a context is simply having something to do, something to occupy their time in a constructive and meaningful way, precisely that which the Ibdaa Cultural Center has strived to do for over 10 years.

But Ibdaa is not alone. Foreign funders and enlightened local actors (not the cinema variety) have been collaborating in Palestine for many years in order to offer the types of activities that create something to cheer about. Ask most Americans about Palestine and the conversation becomes unsophisticated rather quickly, no fault of their own in most cases I will grant you. Yet if they were able to be present in a stadium filled with roaring fans lauding their respective soccer teams, attend a championship basketball game between Christian and Muslim Arabs, or sit with hundreds of enamored onlookers as a broad-minded poet (educated in America) moves the audience to tears with his narration, maybe they would feel that people here aren't that different after all.

It is understandable that Americans would be fearful of the Arab world, maybe of Muslims in general. I too have been influenced by negligent and circumspect exposure to the real experience of people making their way through life as best they can in this part of the globe. We know only of suicide bombers and 'terrorists' with black masks wielding AK-47's, with virtually no context or more penetrating comprehension whatsoever. Not to say that there aren't persons here of extreme persuasions (as there are in every country), but how pervasive is it really when a white, blonde, blue-eyed man (and American) stands among thousands of Arab males and he recieves only smiles, hello's and handshakes? I'll leave you to ponder that one.

The real story is of everyday people trying to make the most of what they've got, which isn't much here in Palestine. What they do with the little they have (meaning little land, money, freedom, and so on) would amaze anyone who has an inkling of what it might be like growing up under military occupation. It would offend my colleagues here, however, if we were to assume that they are a charity case. My impression of what they need is solidarity, not charity, people to stand shoulder to shoulder with them in order to help maintain the dignity and respect they rightly deserve, to collaborate in order to offer something tangible and meaningful to future generations. Right now, this is how I am coming to make some sense as for my presence in the Dhiesheh refugee camp in the West Bank, Palestine.

The Game of Life

The 8th day of Ramadan. The moon descended slowly, transforming from pearl to amber as it hung above a large date palm just outside the Jericho Municipality International Stadium. An extensive entourage travelled from Dheisheh to Jericho this evening for a soccer game with Beit Safafa, a team from East Jerusalem. All but a couple of us rode aboard Ibdaa's new bus (donated by a town in Spain) and the trip had its ups and downs. Not least because the road from Bethlehem to Jericho is a windy one with rapid descents and steep climbs, and laden with relentless unmarked speed bumps.

I have made the trip before, at least 4 times, passing through the various Israeli checkpoints and Palestinian villages that dot the scenery, but this one was particularly discouraging. At the first checkpoint the soldiers asked all of Ibdaa's players (and fans) to step out of the bus, line up, and hand over their I.D. cards. This was not particularly unsettling, they are quite used to such scenarios, as I have become also in only three weeks here. What was unsettling was that the soldiers took two of the players to a holding room, releasing one, and arresting the other, a cousin of one of the players and only 20 years old. This evening that young man ate a homecooked Ramadan meal with his family, hopped on the bus to go cheer on his cousin, and is now sitting somewhere inside and Israeli jail.

No one knew what he had done, I couldn't get an answer from my friends as to why they would have arrested him. Was he a collaborator, who did he know, was he a terrorist? Perhaps, perhaps not. One thing is for sure, he is the oldest male in his family and its sole supporter. Now, the routine has once again begun, the calling of lawyers, exploring for contacts that might have an 'in' on the young man's whereabouts, a process that may take weeks or months.

Few Americans are faced with the reality of driving through military checkpoints, listening to heart-rending stories of children assasinated, houses demolished, photojournalists running for cover as menacing Apache helicopters hover overhead, or a friend's little brother shot by a sniper as he stood looking out his window at the scene below. Few also hear of community led initiatives that try to give hope to an entire refugee camp (for a whole community that could be diagnosed with PTSD) by providing a place for children to hang out, sports activities that can occupy their time, workshops and trainings, and most of all, an example of resilience and fortitude in the face of adversity.

Last night we ate dinner with an English screenwriter (you might have heard of The Last King of Scotland) and a CBS/freelance videographer, one of the best in Palestine (and there are a lot of those here). The Englishman is writing a movie about a female Palestinian suicide bomber and they dropped by to talk story with Ziad, rather, to listen to his personal testimony of a life lived through both Intifadas and the momumental shifts of the world around him, though the most arduous elements seem to have remained the same.

Dheisheh has had its share of suffering, and it has also offered its share of resistance to the Israeli occupation, 5 suicide bombers have emerged from its narrow streets, including the youngest female bomber from Palestine, at 17. So Ziad knows well the facts on the ground as it comes to such things. It is both disconcerting and fascinating for me to hear he and his peers talk about their experiences growing up. Whereas I am used to adult males boast about their salvitic moments on the football field or that unfading memory of the time they landed 15 lake trout, here they talk about climbing on tops of tanks, waking up to a soldier's boot in their face, or getting shot in the ass. The truly fascinating thing is that they laugh about it all, perhaps as a defense mechanism, or simply because for a human to experience such things is so heinous and absurd that it becomes laughable.

In Order To Learn

After a week of assimilation I have finally begun to interact with the Ibdaa youth. One of Ibdaa's primary functions is youth empowerment and leadership development and it is in these areas that I have been given some room to explore how I might learn from and share with the young people of Dheisheh.

I have engaged twice with a group of about 10 boys (aged 14-16) in a way that my experience in life and work has compelled me to. Our first encounter was an introduction to what I would like to offer them, which is a mixture of my martial arts and sports training, leadership education and teambuilding experience, and an introduction for me to what the boys feel they need at this pivotal time in their lives. Most of them expressed a need for guidance and support, someone to create the space for them to be active, learn functional life skills, and most importantly, to play ball. Talking to them about what they want from our interaction was a valuable and thought provoking exercise that has helped to shape my ideas of how I can best serve this community as a volunteer in solidarity with their mission.

Speaking now about how this community, specifically broader Palestine, has served me I wish to highlight my brief excursion yesterday to the city of Hebron. Hebron is a large city in the center of biblical Judea and is one of the oldest continually inhabited regions in the world. It is also one of the most controversial areas in all of Palestine.

Hebron has been a sight of discord between Jews and Arabs since early in the last century, and both communities have suffered from it. For example, in the late 1920's, 67 Jews were targeted and killed by Palestinians, and between '48 and '67 under Jordanian rule, many synagogues were ransacked and destroyed. Since the '67 war the Israeli Army has controlled the West Bank, Hebron being in the south of it, and Jewish settlers (now numbering around 800) have moved in and dominated life in the middle of the city. There is one soldier for every settler there, settler's who happen to be some of the most radical in all of Palestine, and most coming from Brooklyn, in fact. In 1994, for instance, the American-born doctor, Baruch Goldstein, entered the Cave of the Patriarchs, a mosque that houses the tombs of Abraham and his descendants, and opened fire on a crowd gathered for prayer. 29 Arab men and boys were killed before he was overtaken by a wrathful crowd. I could still see the missing chunks of stone, now filled in with plaster, from the bullets that exited his military-issued assault rifle.

As I and three American doctors wandered through the ancient city, up and down the maze of secluded corridors, past the immutable stone walls and winding tunnelways, we were aroused by the remote past that seemed to seep from the cracks. Hebron is a meaningful city to many, and it was easy to see why.

On our way out of the inner-city corridors, a Palestinian man, accompanied by his dishwater blonde boy, asked us if we knew our way or needed aide to exit the labrynthine walkways. Next thing we knew we were climbing the steps into his elegant home, tucked away behind a 10 meter stone facade. He was a humble man, softspoken yet obviously honored to share his pride for his family, including his two sons who were in their twenties. The troubling thing was, though, that he spent most of his breath on describing how wearisome life was in Hebron.

Every 10 days or so Israeli soldiers drop into his home from above, without notice, and interrogate his family. His two sons have been taken often and held all night in the settler area, being namecalled, sometimes beaten, and otherwise harrassed for living there. He stated that the soldiers admittedly beleaguer the Palestinians in Hebron because, "This is an occupation, and we must keep our boots on your neck." He left us by mentioning that moving his family to Canada was an advancing reality and seemed convinced that the actions of the soldiers intended precisely that.

So I am learning a great deal here, about resilience, the power of the struggle to survive, and confounded as to how human beings remain positive even amidst ruthless adversity. It is a both a humbling and a beautiful thing, volunteering my energy in order to learn and share in this strikingly unexpected environment.

Encounters

This is a land of unforeseen encounters, not least because it is hard to envisage what awaits you on the other side of the Wall. This past Saturday I took a brief taxi ride from Dheisheh to the former sight of Rachel's Tomb, where now stands a looming concrete pillbox and massive metal gateway, the main entrance into the city of Jerusalem. After passing through a labyrinth of fencework, turnstiles, and x-ray machines, I took my first steps towards the ancient city.

Upon making my way through the security zone, a new friend, accompanied by two Israeli men, a German man and one Jewish American woman, picked me up at the Jerusalem side of the Wall and my first excursion into Israel commenced. The six of us, crammed like sardines into the rental car, sped away from the line of division (both a geographical and a cultural one) and headed for the Old City. It was an amazing sight to see, the timeworn wall, the Al-Aqsa mosque, and the new ultra-modern mall across the street. I was fortunate enough to have two Israeli tour guides in the car, both of whom quickly entered into a guide-off to see which one held the most esoteric information about each unique historical landmark. It was quite amusing, and informing as well.

Our inter-ethnic entourage was headed up to a small hamlet, Tay Beh, just north of Ramallah. Tay Beh is a city know for many things, including being a wholly Christian village and the sight of the only brewery in Palestine. It was the villages Oktoberfest celebration that led us there, and it turned out to be fantastic. The entire community seemed to join in the fun, and so did a great number of international journalists and beer/cultural connoisseurs. Although the festival was a hit, it was actually the journey there that made the most impact.

You see, two of my friends in the car were Israeli, and it is illegal (under Israeli law) for its country's citizens to enter the West Bank. In fact, my comrades had hardly ever travelled in the West Bank at all. Although we could have chosen to take the quick and easy route ( the bypass roads, an exclusive luxury) we chose instead to drive right through Palestine's most thriving city. Needless to say, there was an air of tension and vulnerability in the car. But, a serendipitous encounter sucked all of that air out as quickly as you could say Hoover.

We didn't really know our way to Tay Beh, and so we stopped to ask a taxi driver if he could direct us. What he did deeply affected all of us, particularly my Israeli friends. After our query was delivered the taxi driver shouted out, "Yala" (let's go), and gestured at us to follow. This complete stranger led us nearly the entire way to Tay Beh, saving us a lot of anxiety because we probably would have been lost for hours, and that wasn't even the greatest part. The most significant thing occurred when he stopped at a local convenience store, ran in, and emerged with a large bottle of lemonade and a stack of cups, saying, "Welcome to Palestine." It was a welcome that my friends had never expected, and with one simple cultural intimation, their perspectives opened like desert flowers after a spring rain . That one experience, combined with the beauty that can be found on the road from Ramallah to Tay Beh, held transformational qualities that nothing like a first hand encounter can convey.

The past week has been a challenge in acclimating to a new culture, environment, and reflecting upon my own ability to adjust. Yet, the people here have been open and supportive and it has been a remarkably easy transition for me given their 'nourishment' (there is no shortage of great food!). I feel that four months is hardly enough time to genuinely adapt to a new culture but I am hopeful that it will allow me time enough to come to realize, not simply understand, this part of the world more accurately. A new week and new perspectives begins today.

Reflections on the View

For several days now I have been attempting to assimilate into a hostile world. Hostile not in the sense of day to day relations, which in fact are charming, open and hospitable, but hostile in the sentiment it imbibes. I will never be able to articulate completely the feelings that are generated when standing below a 15' concrete barrier, looking down upon military-controlled roads lined with electric fences and snaking atop the barren landscape, seeing once-functional buildings, barraged by shelling, slowly deteriorate into rubble, and trying to fathom that all the while I have my feet planted in the Holy Land.

I have travelled along bypass roads here, zooming by Israeli settlements and checkpoints on roads so steep and windy that a rally car racer would teem with adrenaline upon sight of them. The landscape, an arid and dusty series of rolling hills, is actually full of life. In spite of the hardships and daily challenges that face Palestinian residents in the West Bank, they do seem to get by. Though it must take a tremendous amount of resilience, the source of which has to be something quite profound, to wake up each morning with hope, still watching with the naked eye as California-like settlements sprout up on the bluffs ahead, a man-made oasis replete with tennis courts and swimming pools.

The water here is an important topic. I have two colleagues that work on the water issue - gathering data, writing papers, doing extensive homework, and then facts are generated and callibrated - and the reality is not uplifting. The reality is that the water issues here are a prime source of the continuation of the conflict. Water flows downward, and in the case of Israel and Palestine, much of the water flows from the West Bank acquifers into Israel Proper. Under international law, states that are recipients of water in this way are required to share it, but in this case it is gathered, distributed to the areas deemed most needy, and the leftovers are sold back to the Palestinians. The continued violations are self-evident, albeit more complex.

It is not my intention here to enter into a diatribe on injustice. I admit that my understanding at this point is not a balanced one, but I also admit that this 'side' has no real voice where I am from and as these are the lessons that are before me now I feel compelled to express them.

As a conflict worker I am deeply interested in the spectrum of transformation methods (e.g. violence - nonviolence) for addressing conflict. I asked a friend today about the application of nonviolence in this context now (knowing that it has been used extensively and strategically in the past), and the remarks centered around the overwhelming reality that 'hope' in the broader community in Palestine might as well be a foreclosed option for the future. To get his point across more concretely we stopped a teenager on the street to ask him the same question. To paraphrase, "Of course I believe in peace, it is in my heart, but how can we have hope under this occupation?" We were mere meters from the wall. We thanked him and waved goodbye, and his face lit up with a smile.

Within my own self hope does spring eternal, but how can I or anyone ever know how deep that river of hope flows, ever truly empathize with the reality faced here? One of my hopes is to come closer to understanding this elusive labyrinth of emotion and will.

Tomorrow I enter into Ramallah for a cultural event with the dance troupe, the next day into Jerusalem, and the journey ambles forward.

Marhaba Palestine

Change is always swift when leapfrogging from one continent to another, it's just that some leaps are more far-reaching than others. Yesterday I was in Switzerland, today Palestine. It isn't difficult to imagine the transformation of the landscape, the cars, the food, the people, but it is something else entirely to experience it unfolding in front of you.

In the last week I had become accustomed to taking notice of marble archways, verandas overflowing with flowering vines, and steep, verdant peaks. Yesterday, travelling from Ben Gurion airport in Tel Aviv to my new home outside of Bethlehem, that composition became awash in an infinite sea of right angles, stands of cedar and olive, and arid hilltops. I arrived in Ad Dheisheh refugee camp yesterday evening around 6:00, a tangerine sun setting over West Bank highlands in the distance.

A brief and necessary history lesson: the Dheisheh refugee camp is not a 'camp' as you might picture one in your mind, though it did start out as a tent site 58 years ago. The municipality of Dheisheh (a l-sq-km area) has been leased by the UN Relief Works Agency since 1949 and is now a fairly built-up enclave of about 12,000 persons. Dheisheh was, until the Oslo Accords in the 1990's, surrounded by a 15' barbed wire fence and had only one entrance, controlled by the Israeli military, which remains today in the form of a rusty turnstile, a chilling reminder of perhaps the most restrictive policies ever imposed by the Israelis - 84 consecutive days of curfew during the Gulf War. The residents of Dheisheh come from 30 villages and from West Jerusalem, and inhabited the tent site in 1949 after their hometowns were either repopulated by Jewish immigrants, or demolished. Today, Dheisheh is headquarters for the world-renowned youth dance troupe, champion basketball teams, a media center, trade school, kindergarten, and a women's leadership initiative, all based out of the Ibdaa Cultural Center. It is my task for the next four months to understand the situation here more deeply - the realities facing Palestinian refugees as well as the legitimate concerns of Israeli citizens - and to offer myself in service in ways that I hope might be useful to the people here, based in some part on my training as a peace and conflict educator.

It is not likely to be easy, and I see that as a good thing. I can foresee myself being challenged to refine various aspects of my training in conflict studies, in developing a greater sensitivity to complex and seemingly insurmountable conflicts, to deepen my empathy for the victims on all sides of such tragic circumstances, to increase my ability to be open to new insights and learnings, and to become a better teacher (that is perhaps the most arduous of them!). If the past two days are any indication, it is going to be a great journey.

Au Revoir Genevois

Climbing up the Bernese Alps, the precipitous mountain range rising above the city of Montreux, was perhaps my most Swiss experience on this brief stopover. My aunt and I rode a rack and pinion railcar upwards of 5000 feet this morning, lumbering by quaint hilltop villages and over emerald farms surrounded by thick spruce, eventually ending up atop Rochers de Naye, a mountain refuge for alpine plants, yellow-bellied marmots, and humans stumbling around in wonderment.

Thick clouds drifted over the mountain peaks and down the grassy valley below as I walked along the mountainside, a 1000 foot drop on one side and a rocky scree down the other, hearing the occasional bells of Swiss cows going clang-clang far below. Precisely the sort of surroundings I was hoping to find myself in on my last day in Geneva, my first ever trip to Europe.

By no means is one week sufficient enough to take in Switzerlands charming allure, but this was a week filled to the brim with cafe's, walks through medeival squares, endless stimulating conversation, and of course, healthy doses of wine and cheese.

Tomorrow I leave Geneva and arrive in Tel Aviv. A short car ride later and I will enter my homebase for the next four months, the Dheisheh refugee camp just outside of Bethlehem, and the raison d'ètre for this online journal you see before you. I have ideas about what awaits me there, though I have been pushing myself to relinquish them, knowing that whatever it is will be far beyond my expectations and an undoubted turning point in a global travellers life experience. I'll let you know how it goes.